App of Sustenance w Aphrodisiac Qualities
by Emcee Frodis
Summary: Set between Chapters 32 and 33 of "The Full House". Now reunited, Sherlock makes an attempt at a romantic date in order to woo Molly.


**Title:** The Application of Sustenance with Purported Aphrodisiac Qualities  
**Rating:** M  
**Pairing:** Molly/Sherlock  
**Warnings:** Copious amounts of sexytimes some which involve food.  
**Summary:** After he and Molly start dating again, Sherlock decides to run an experiment in getting her into bed.  
**Disclaimer:** Arthur Conan Doyle, The Grand Moff and Godtiss have a tight hold on these things. If I had it... Well, this would happen.  
**Author's Notes:** This is set between Chapters 32 and 33 of "The Full House". I thought it worked well with John just stumbling on the morning after, but I thought you guys would appreciate the actual date (and hey... Finally some smut).

**Before we beginning, a fandom service announcement:** The lovely Nocturnias is holding the SAMFA (Sherlock and Molly Fic Awards). Nominations are currently open through May 21st. Check out youdocount -dot- weebly -dot- com or the "sherlolly fic awards" tag at Tumblr for more details on how to put your nominations in.

* * *

Speculation of those who didn't know Sherlock Holmes (and even some that did) was that the only thing that could possibly make him happy was a nice gruesome murder. Those people did not know the absolute misery he had been in- and had put his friends through- since breaking up with Doctor Molly Hooper.

He'd spent a month _pining_. God, wasn't it _pathetic_? And dull. At first, he'd thrown himself into any case he could find, most of them ridiculously tedious. When he finally came to terms with the fact he _did_ miss her, he'd curled up on the couch of 221B, spent two days listening to Phil Collins, smoking like a chimney. Then he wrote a concerto as John as aptly pointed out for _her._

In all of the time he spent trying to put Molly behind him, he thought about her more than ever. It was impossible for him to deny all of the facts in front of him. He'd alluded to it before, but he hadn't been able to say the words. Now, he had to say the words or else lose her forever.

He- Sherlock Holmes- was in love with Doctor Molly Hooper.

In a way, it was a relief to have admitted it. As much as he tried to be stalwart and stoic, there was no denying it was the truth. Everyone around him had said as much.

Now that it was out there, Sherlock felt a weight lift from him. He had Molly back in his life and he could get his mind back on track.

There was still just one problem.

Molly refused to move back into 221B.

It was ridiculous, the idea of her not coming back home. And it was home with Molly there. Since she had left, the once familiar dwelling felt alien to him. Empty. Cold.

It seemed the key to their problem lay with sexual intimacy. Molly did not want to rush back into an intimate relationship with him. It seemed like an arbitrary line. They had already been intimate sexually seventy-four times previously. Why did they have to delay in engaging in such a relationship once again?

It was not the sex itself that Sherlock longed for. He'd gone for thirty-five years without. He was fully capable of bringing about his own sexual release. It was actually far more efficient to go about it himself, even if it was not nearly as enjoyable.

Sherlock was not comfortable conveying his emotions. This inability had nearly destroyed his relationship with Molly. But he had tried to show her, when he took her to bed. Tried to cherish her body with his, let her know how much he cared.

Oh.

_Oh._

_OH._

That was it, wasn't it? Despite Molly being able to vocalize her affections, she still conveyed herself with her body as he did. But she was trying to protect herself. She did not fully trust that Sherlock was sure in their relationship.

How could she be so ridiculous? Of course he was certain. He would not have said _those words_ were he not.

He'd asked Molly to come to 221B when it was convenient for her. He had discovered from her phone she had a shift at Barts, so she would not arrive until at least eight o'clock.

He'd spent the morning working on the Moran case. Irene had uncovered some pertinent details that he needed to do some legwork on, something he had been neglecting while wallowing over the loss of Molly.

Once that was done, he went to work. If Molly was going to come over, he didn't want her to see exactly how bad things had been for him during her absence. He had been pathetic and it was paramount she never discover exactly how bad off he had been.

He went to work cleaning the flat. Normally, he would leave such tasks to Mrs Hudson or John, but it was imperative it be cared for expediently. Mrs Hudson and John did not clean until they were utterly fed up with Sherlock's mess.

Things seemed to keep much cleaner when Molly was living at 221B. She cleaned up after Sherlock without a single complaint. Sherlock found himself also putting away his experiments when he was done with them just so she wouldn't have to do it.

It took about an hour and a half, but Sherlock managed to get the flat to his liking. It was not as clean as when Molly or Mrs Hudson did the job- mostly he had just thrown things into John's bedroom- but it would suffice.

Just cleaning the flat was not enough. Molly was expecting romance now that he had declared his love. But 'romance' was hardly something Sherlock was equipped for.

He _wanted_ to please Molly. Now that he had come to terms with his feelings for her, he was determined to make her happy. Even if that meant going outside of his comfort zone.

John was with Mary. Besides, even if his flatmate were there, Sherlock wasn't sure he was able to quite cross _that_ barrier yet, asking for help. He knew John would get that _smirk_ on his face when he thought he was cleverer than Sherlock. It didn't happen often, but oh did the Doctor enjoy it.

The Internet seemed like the appropriate venue at the current juncture. He opened up his laptop- lest John find the search history on his own- and typed in "How to plan the perfect date at home".

He didn't want to take Molly out. By keeping her at 221B, she would remember how much she enjoyed it there. Besides, his bed was in the flat. If Molly were in the mood to take things further, he certainly wasn't going to hamper that by being too far from his room.

He scanned through the results and came across several websites and blogs with tips for a romantic evening at home.

All in all, it did not sound terrible. It seemed like the goal of a date at home was to end up in the bedroom, which suited Sherlock just fine. Once they crossed that barrier once again, Molly surely would not want to pull away.

Sherlock immediately dismissed several of the options. Watching a movie, no. That was long, tedious and dull. He didn't care for dancing, although that would have the advantage of getting Molly close to him. She also _did_ have an affinity for that eighties dancing movie, which she had watched four times in the span of their co-habitation.

Molly enjoyed listening to him play the violin. He had his concerto for her. He knew it would stir a deep reaction from her.

Dinner seemed like the most logical course of action. Molly would skip eating at the canteen at Barts in order to finish up work sooner.

Not eating frequently and making the act as simple as possible meant Sherlock did not have a lot of prowess in the kitchen. He was certain if he applied himself, he could do a good job. Cooking seemed to be much like chemistry. However, it was not the night to experiment with that sort of thing. Takeaway seemed gauche. He focused his Internet search on foods for romantic dinners.

Sherlock's eyes widened slightly when he came across an article from a website for a women's magazine.

Of course. There were foods capable of stimulating sexual arousal.

Sherlock began to make a list. He would need to go to the shops.

* * *

Molly reached for the doorknob of 221B, prepared to walk straight in. It was habit for her. She realized just before she opened the door that, no, she was a guest. She couldn't just barge in.

She raised her hand, quietly knocking.

After a moment, the door swung open and Sherlock stuck his head out. "Why in the world are you knocking, Molly?"

"Um." Molly's cheeks turned red. "It's your flat, Sherlock. I'm not just going to..."

An arm snaked around Molly's waist and the door opened fully as Sherlock's lips seared against hers. He lifted her up as his tongue gently parted her lips. Molly could do nothing but give in to the hungry affection, slipping her hands into Sherlock's soft, dark curls.

"I'm glad you're home," Sherlock murmured against Molly's mouth.

Molly pulled away from Sherlock, noticing now that he had carried her into the sitting room. She had been so lost in his kiss she hadn't noticed the change in venue. "Sherlock, I'm not-"

â€¨She stopped, looking around the flat. Her mouth gaped at the sight. The only sources of light in the flat were candles spread all around the tidy room. There was a spread of food on the coffee table.

Molly looked up at Sherlock. He was looking down at her, his blue eyes slightly widened as he observed her carefully, judging her reaction and blatantly looking for approval.

"You did all of this?" Molly squeaked.

Sherlock brought a hand to Molly's face, caressing her cheek. "Do you like it?"

Molly could feel her face heat up as her lips parted in a smile. Never in a million years would she have thought Sherlock would do something so blatantly romantic. "Oh Sherlock..." She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him firmly.

He sighed in her mouth, obviously relieved his plan was well-received. As they kissed, he pulled her jacket off, tossing it haphazardly onto the desk. Molly just hoped it hadn't accidentally caught one of the candles.

Molly pulled away after a moment, causing Sherlock to frown slightly at the loss of contact. She looked him over. As usual, Sherlock looked absolutely impeccable in a dark suit with a midnight blue shirt. Molly looked down at herself, still in her clothes from work- loose trousers and a frilly, shapeless blouse. She did not at all look like she was dressed for a romantic evening.

Sherlock, being Sherlock, easily read her. "I am the only one here and I have no problem with your outfit. You were also relegated to transcribing Veronica's notes, thus you do not have the mortuary smell on you. There is nothing wrong with how you look." He pursed his lips as he looked her over. "Except..."

Sherlock reached to Molly's hair and pulled the tie holding it back out, letting the locks fall free over her shoulders.

"There," Sherlock murmured. "Perfect."

He then took her hands, lifting them to his mouth and kissing the knuckles. Molly's toes curled inside her shoes. He was really trying so hard to be romantic and it was working. Who knew Sherlock Holmes could be a gentleman? "You must be hungry," Sherlock said, leading her over to the coffee table. He'd spread a blanket out on the floor and helped her to sit on it before slipping down beside her. "What would you like to start with?"

Molly looked over the food. It all seemed to be very simple. Fruits and vegetables and the like. Nothing cooked. Good thing. She didn't know if Sherlock even knew how to use to stove.

She then frowned slightly, realizing just how _odd_ some of Sherlock's choices were. It didn't take her long to figure out why he'd made such bizarre choices in cuisine. "You've been researching aphrodisiacs."

Sherlock looked away as he poured two glasses of champagne. "I might have done some research in creating a romantic dinner."

Molly shook her head. "These aren't about romance, they're about sex. And I can tell you as a doctor, most of these don't work."

Sherlock furrowed his brow. "No good?"

Molly sighed. She didn't want to disappoint Sherlock. Not when he'd tried so hard to create a nice meal for them. "It's fine, Sherlock," she sighed, leaning in and giving him a peck on the cheek. "But some of it we're not going to eat. Hot chillies, no... Garlic, no... And I'm allergic to oysters."

"You are?" Sherlock scowled. "How did I not know that?"

"Well... You don't eat." Molly shrugged. "Means you don't see me eat a lot."

Sherlock continued to scowl.

Molly smiled and picked up a strawberry, holding it up to Sherlock's mouth. "It's fine, Sherlock. It's all fine."

Sherlock bit into the ripe fruit and Molly felt a jolt go through her body as Sherlock's lips closed around it. He really did have a lovely mouth. Once he'd swallowed the strawberry, he pressed a kiss to Molly's fingertips. "I didn't even think about this part."

"What part?" Molly asked. Her heart was already pounding in her chest. The edict she'd given the night previous about abstaining from sex seemed hollow at that moment.

"Feeding each other," Sherlock rumbled low in his throat. He picked up piece of banana and offered it to Molly. She leaned in and took it into her mouth. "In theory, it seems inefficient and unhygienic. In practice..." Sherlock hissed in a breath as Molly's tongue brushed against his fingers.

"Practice makes perfect," Molly joked feebly.

Normally, Sherlock rolled his eyes at her attempts at humour. This time, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to her mouth. "I suppose it does."

Sherlock held out one of the champagne glasses to Molly. He then took up the other. He gazed at her warmly, remaining quiet. Finally, he whispered, "Thank you, Molly Hooper."

"I didn't do anything," Molly replied, looking away, unable to face his piercing gaze.

"You've done everything," Sherlock replied, clinking his glass against Molly's.

She could feel her face heat up even more and took a gulp of her drink, feeling the bubbles tickle her throat. Sherlock gave her a small smile before taking a sip. She realized it was the first time she'd ever seen him drinking alcohol.

"I don't often," Sherlock replied to her unspoken comment. "Dulls the senses. But this seemed like an appropriate occasion."

They took turns feeding one another pieces of fruit. Molly found herself giggling and giving Sherlock kisses between each bit of food.

"You're full of mirth tonight," Sherlock commented. He trailed a hand up her side. "It was strange not hearing that while you were gone."

"Let's not think about that," Molly whispered. Sherlock nodded in agreement and brushed his fingers against the sensitive part on Molly's hip that made her flinch away.

"No!" She gasped, letting out a small giggle. "Don't!"

"I missed it," Sherlock purred. He was like a cat pouncing on prey, smoothly slipping on top of her. His slender fingers slipped to her sides, tickling her.

Molly jerked and shrieked at the sensations shooting through her. She bit her lip trying to stop herself from laughing.

"I want to hear you," Sherlock murmured, his fingers skating over Molly's sides. "Come on, Molly..."

Molly gave in and pearls of laughter escaped her lips.

â€¨Sherlock smirked down at her. He then leaned in, his mouth finding hers. Molly let out a small squeak, fisting her hands in the fabric of his suit jacket. Sherlock nipped on her lower lip before letting his tongue delve into her mouth. He hands ceased their attack on her side trying to elicit laughter, instead smoothing over her hips and thighs.

"Sherlock," Molly gasped against his mouth, her hand sliding over his neck. The worry began to bubble up inside of her. She'd told herself she would resist the temptation. They needed to take things slow.

Sherlock's lips were slick and warm against hers. The movement of his hands sent a tingling sensation to her belly.

"Sherlock," Molly moaned again, her hands flattening against his chest, pushing him away.

Sherlock finally withdrew, panting as he looked down at her. "But you're enjoying this."

"Of course I am," Molly murmured, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "But..."

Sherlock leaned in and pressed open-mouthed kisses to Molly's throat, trailing over her collarbone. "Why do you want me to stop?"

"Please Sherlock," Molly asked softly, feeling her willpower start to waver.

Sherlock sighed and sat back on his heels. "All right." He got to his feet and took up his violin, taking a couple of deep breaths.

Molly frowned and worried her lower lip. She had ruined their evening and Sherlock was going to pout with his violin.

But Sherlock had known what her wishes were. He needed to respect them. He couldn't pout now that she was asserting herself.

Instead of keeping his back to her and torturing the violin, Sherlock turned to Molly, looking down at her. "I wanted to play for you," He said softly. "This is... I need you to hear it."

Molly looked up at Sherlock as he began to play. He closed his eyes, moving the bow over the strings with precision.

It was like nothing she had ever heard before from Sherlock's violin. It was not like the music he played while he was thinking; the distracted melodies that were played for no other reason than to have something to do with his hands while he worked through a problem. It wasn't even like the few times she'd heard him perform for other people, mostly Mrs Hudson. Those performances were always so placating and simple.

This was deep and stirring. Molly could feel each note resonate through her.

Sherlock's eyes were closed as the haunting melody filled the flat. Molly didn't recognize the song. She was not well informed in classical music... But no, that was not the reason she didn't recognize it. She knew that.

Every once and a while, Sherlock would open his eyes, peering down at Molly, his haunting blue gaze filled with longing.

He had written it for her. She knew Sherlock had written music for his violin. He actually preferred his own to playing a composed piece. This one was special. It was filled with such desperate yearning and deep sadness.

The tears prickled in Molly's eyes. What Sherlock was playing was his pure emotions for her. He could not have expressed them better if he had spoken them aloud.

Molly brought her knees to her chest and covered her face. Sherlock's emotions turned to melody and vibrated through her as he continued to play. She felt every second of their month-long estrangement from his point of view.

But more than that. She felt every second of the five months they were together. The three years before. Every note told the story since they moment they'd met, when Sherlock had strode into her morgue like he owned the place.

Sherlock stopped abruptly and Molly felt his arms encircle her. He lifted her up, setting her into his lap. He pressed a kiss to her temple. He didn't ask why she sobbed. He didn't need to. Even if he weren't the world's only consulting detective, he would've known.

"I didn't mean to make you cry," Sherlock whispered against her hair. His hands smoothed over her back. Molly felt the heat radiating from his body, suffusing her with his presence.

She had been lost for the past month. But now, she was home again.

"Is that really how you feel?" Molly asked, her voice quavering.

Sherlock buried his face in the crook of her neck, his breath warm against her skin. He nodded against her throat.

Molly pulled away from Sherlock and he looked up, observing her carefully. She reached a hand to his face, smoothing over the angular planes of his cheeks. She traced the line of his jaw and heard him draw in a shaking breath. Her fingertips outlined his prominent cupid's bow. Sherlock's lips parted to press a kiss to the wandering digits.

She had been so afraid before. Since the moment they first kissed, Molly had waited for Sherlock to push her away. It had come as no surprise when he finally did.

She didn't have that fear now. He hadn't changed. But he had grown. He had finally accepted the love she'd been offering so desperately and offered it back in kind.

The fear was gone. Replacing it was the vision of a life with this man, this strange man she had been in love with for so many years, who now freely returned her affections. Okay, maybe the fear wasn't entirely gone. It was replaced by a new fear: a strange anxious feeling in her stomach at the unknown. But it felt good.

"You didn't finish your playing," Molly whispered. "You just stopped."

Sherlock shook his head. "It doesn't have an end." He leaned in, trailing lingering kisses over Molly's jawline. He descended downwards, sucking at her throat. He sighed against her flesh, his voice as dark and smooth as black silk, "I don't think it should."

The barriers Molly had put up crumbled in an instant. She could no more resist this man any more than she could stop breathing.

Her fingers sank into Sherlock's hair and pulled him away from his task sucking at the juncture of her neck and shoulder. She tilted his head up and brushed their lips together. The gesture was light at first, just a hesitant, dry nuzzle. Molly's tongue then slipped out, gliding over Sherlock's upper lip before delving into his mouth. She felt the slick caress of Sherlock meeting her in kind. His hands rucked up her blouse, smoothing over the skin of her lower back.

She shifted her position, straddling Sherlock's lap to improve her angle. She pressed herself against him desperately, hearing him groan into her mouth as her small breasts pressed against his chest.

Sherlock pulled away from her mouth with a ragged gasp. "Are you sure, Molly?"

Molly's licked her lips and grabbed Sherlock's shirt, tearing it open. The buttons gave way from the ferocious gesture, scattering across the floor.

"You could have just said yes," Sherlock groaned as Molly dove in, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses to his too pale flesh. He obligingly laid back, allowing Molly all the access she wanted.

She slid her fingers over his torso while she licked and kissed his collarbone. She could feel his ribs beneath her fingers. She frowned even as she continued her oral ministrations. He'd lost weight since the last time she'd seen him shirtless. His weight was so closely tied with his mood. It was something she would have to break him of. It was unhealthy.

"You know I actually made dessert," Sherlock commented with a groan, almost in answer to her unspoken comment on his weight. "Shame we won't get to eat it. I worked hard on it."

Molly noticed the bowl of melted chocolate being kept warm beneath a Bunsen burner on low. She hadn't noticed it while they were feeding each other the fruit. She wanted to giggle that it wasn't that difficult to melt chocolate. Then, anything involving cooking was an effort for Sherlock.

Molly smiled devilishly at her lover, dipping her index finger into the chocolate. Thankfully, it was not so warm it was unpleasant to the touch. Molly submerged her finger in the dark brown concoction. She then withdrew it, holding it up so Sherlock could see. Droplets of the chocolate fell onto Sherlock's bare chest. She took her finger into her mouth, sucking on it. She took her finger all the way into her mouth, closing her eyes and letting out a small mewl of contentment.

Sherlock made a strangled noise, his hips shifting upwards. Molly squeaked as she felt him press up against the juncture of her thighs. She brought her free hand down quickly to brace herself. She slipped the finger out of her mouth, licking away the remnants of the chocolate. "Easy there, Sherlock," Molly murmured. "We've got time." She then frowned, looking to the door. "Don't we? John..."

"Told him to stay with Mary tonight," Sherlock replied, sliding his hands over Molly's thighs.

Molly smiled down at him. "Bit presumptuous, don't you think?"

"I don't presume," Sherlock replied indignantly.

Molly dipped her fingers into the chocolate once again. "Sure you don't."

"Presuming would be-" Sherlock cut himself off, gasping as Molly trailed her chocolate covered fingers down his chest. "What are you doing?"

"You're the detective. Figure it out." Molly let out a giggle as she leaned in and laved her tongue over the skin she had just painted with chocolate.

Sherlock's fingers slipped into Molly's hair, gripping it tightly as she cleaned every bit of chocolate off him. The mingled taste of the rich chocolate and Sherlock's skin was intriguing. Molly wanted to try more.

"This is terribly unhygienic," Sherlock gasped. He pulled Molly to him, his tongue flicking out to lick the chocolate from her lips. "I am however finding it hard to care."

Molly pulled back as Sherlock's hands slid under her blouse. She obligingly held her arms up as he pulled the blouse up over her head. He tossed it aside and Molly bit her lower lip as Sherlock's eyes scanned over her.

"You knew we were going to have sex," Sherlock murmured, fingers dancing over the edge of her simple, pink bra.

Molly's brow furrowed. That was certainly wishful thinking on Sherlock's part. She had come over bound and determined that it wouldn't happen.

"You wore the one that clasps in the front," Sherlock replied to her silently protest as his fingers wandered towards the clasps, manipulating them. Molly felt the heat in her cheeks. It had been entirely unconscious on her part. But it was true she did wear this bra when she felt like being romantic with Sherlock, knowing it was the only one he had any deftness in removing.

She just sighed happily when she was freed from the undergarment. None of it mattered. Not really. All that mattered was that moment. Sherlock beneath her, his hands on her.

Sherlock's hands left her for a moment and she frowned. But then they were back, digits trailing over her breasts. Molly let out a small squeal as Sherlock painted her with chocolate. He sat up, his mouth following the path he'd just marked. Molly keened, arching towards him.

"I don't care for chocolate much," Sherlock murmured against the swell of her breast. "This is a vast improvement on it."

Molly wanted to make a comment about how delicious chocolate was and Sherlock just needed to lighten up, but then his lips closed around one of her nipples. Molly's eyes slid shut and she mewled softly. Sherlock teased her with lips and tongue. Molly gripped his bare shoulders, the sensations shooting through her.

"Sherlock," Molly whimpered.

He pulled away from her breast and looked up at her, blue eyes burning with lust. He dipped his into the bowl once again. He held it out to Molly. She took the slender digit into her mouth, sucking it clean with a moan.

Sherlock groaned and his hips thrust up, grinding against Molly. She gasped, feeling the evidence of Sherlock's arousal pressed against her.

Molly dipped her fingers back into the chocolate and painted patterns on Sherlock's chest. She rested her palm over his rapidly pounding heart before painting a heart symbol over it.

"Silly representation," Sherlock murmured, looking down at the designs Molly had made. "Based off a woman's vulva rather than the actual anatomical heart."

Molly let out a small giggle. This was the man she was going to spend the rest of her life with. "Sherlock, does that really matter?" She leaned down to lick the chocolate she'd spread over him.

Sherlock groaned as her tongue laved over his nipple. "Not in the least."

They continued to paint each other with the chocolate, carefully cleaning each other off with their tongues. Molly felt her heart flutter at the smile on Sherlock's face. He looked so much younger when he smiled. It was rare to see him so open and happy.

Finally, Sherlock peered into the bowl. "Hm. It seems we're out of chocolate."

"Don't think we need anymore," Molly murmured. She pulled herself to her feet and held out her hands to Sherlock.

Sherlock got up and took Molly's hands. He leaned in, his lips hot and wet against hers. He walked her towards the bedroom, not breaking the kiss. Molly's hands wandered down to Sherlock's trousers, opening the fly.

Sherlock groaned into Molly's mouth before trailing his kisses over her jaw, down her slender throat. He paused to slip off his shoes and allow Molly to pull the trousers down his long legs. He kicked the off, abandoning them on the floor. He then went to work on Molly's and she giggled as he stripped her of her clothing.

Next went Sherlock's jacket. Then his socks. Then her socks. Each piece of clothing was abandoned as they continued to make their way towards Sherlock's bedroom. When he lifted her up and laid her down on the bed, the only clothing left was Molly's pale pink knickers. Sherlock smoothed his hands up Molly's parted thighs. "They match your bra." He arched a brow.

Dammit. She _had_ intended to sleep with him, hadn't she?

Any response Molly could have made died on her lips as Sherlock leaned down, pressing his face to the gusset of her knickers. Molly keened at the sensation, her body wound tighter than a drum after the foreplay in the sitting room and their month long estrangement.

Sherlock hooked his fingers in the waistband and Molly obligingly lifted her bum and legs so he could slide them down.

Once she was bared, she laid beneath Sherlock, his gaze travelling over her, as if relearning her form. His hands then slipped over her, adding the tactile sensation to his 'mind palace'. Molly smiled at the thought.

"You never left it," Sherlock murmured he leaned in, dropping kisses on random places, ascending Molly's body until he came to a stop at her mouth. Their mouths moulded together, slick and warm. He nipped lightly at her upper lip before pulling away.

Molly let out a moan of loss when Sherlock slipped off the bed, walking towards the door. Molly sat up, looking at him in confusion. "Sherlock?"

Without a word, Sherlock left. She frowned deeply.

She then heard the running of the sink in the bathroom. Sherlock returned a few minutes later, crawling back between her legs. "I had chocolate on my fingers," Sherlock explained. "It seemed unwise to introduce such a substance to your nether region."

Molly couldn't help herself. She burst out laughing, bringing her hands up to cover her mouth.

â€¨Sherlock furrowed his brow as he looked down at her in confusion.

Molly moved her hands away from her mouth to cradle his face. "Oh Sherlock..." He was right, of course. It was funny regardless. Molly urged Sherlock to her, kissing him. "I love you."

Sherlock finally smiled back, nuzzling his nose against Molly's. "I love you too, Molly Hooper."

She would never grow tired of hearing those words. She knew, in her heart, Sherlock would not say them often. But that he could say it and Molly knew it was true made her heart pound.

She felt Sherlock's fingers slid between her legs, teasing her. She gasped as one of those long, slender digits slipped inside of her. Molly squirmed as Sherlock's finger glided in and out of her smoothly, testing her readiness. That he would have any doubt she would be primed for him was ludicrous. She had been hot since they started feeding each other.

"You have not had sex in a month," Sherlock explained. "And given your emotional state, I doubt you have engaged in any self-administered pleasure." He added a second finger. "Am I wrong?"

Molly just moaned, squirming beneath her lover. "Sherlock, please..."

Sherlock smirked down at her, manipulating her with the precision he'd gained from five months together. When Sherlock set his mind to something, he became an expert. He was an expert of her body, of each and every thing that would make her cry out in pleasure.

Molly leaned up and caught Sherlock's earlobe in her mouth. He let out a hiss as she bit down gently, smoothing her tongue over the abused flesh. It was one of his weak spots. Molly had discovered it quite accidentally and loved to take advantage of it when she could.

Sherlock slid his fingers out of Molly, inclining his head to take a heated kiss from her lips. "Molly..."

Molly pressed her mouth harder to his, encouraging him along. He shifted his body and then Molly could feel him pressing against her. Molly laid back, fingers digging into his shoulders. She pleaded with every inch of her body for Sherlock to take her. She had missed his touch, had thought she would never feel it again.

Then, he was there. He was sliding inside of her. Molly whimpered as he sank deep into her. Sherlock let out a sigh as he filled her to hilt. His eyes were wide as he looked down at Molly, a look of affection and wonder she'd only ever witnessed from Sherlock in this private moments.

They found their rhythm with ease, Molly arching up as Sherlock thrust in and out of her. Their lips were never more than an inch apart. Eager hands slipped over one another, wanting to make sure the other was real.

It was. They were together once again. After everything they had been through, they had been able to come back. Molly felt the tears well in her eyes even as the pleasure coursed through her.

Sherlock pulled back slightly. "You're crying again." He abruptly stopped his movement, looking down at her. He then began to withdraw.

"No!" Molly cried, bringing her legs up around him. "Don't you dare."

She kissed him hard. "I just... I was..."

And then he understood. Sherlock kissed the tears off of her face. "I was worried we wouldn't be here again too."

He began to move again in earnest. Molly could feel the pleasure mounting. Sherlock knew just the right spots to send her over the edge and he loved to show how smart he was, manipulating every one. It was as if he wanted to prove he hadn't missed a step during their estrangement, determined to turn her into a writhing mess beneath him.

Then, she was there. She reached the precipice of pleasure and she was falling. She held tight to Sherlock as she was overwhelmed by the sensations shooting through her body. Sherlock's mouth claimed hers hungrily, swallowing her cries of completion.

Sherlock's hands moved to her hips, gripping tightly. After only a few more sharp thrusts, she felt him shudder and he released a muffled groan against her. His movements slowed, riding out his orgasm. He then stilled, burying his face into the crook of Molly's neck. They both gasped for breath, still clutching each other desperately.

Sherlock rolled over to lie at Molly's side. He slipped an arm beneath her, urging her to roll over to rest her head against his chest. Molly obliged him, nestling into his chest. It was a position she was not used to. Sherlock always wanted to spoon her, as if he didn't want her to see him hold her. She let out a sigh of contentment, resting her head against his chest, listening to his still rapid heartbeat.

She felt Sherlock's arms wrap around her as she closed her eyes. She was exhausted after their exertions. "You don't have to stay with me," Molly murmured sleepily. "I know you just slept last night."

"I don't want to go anywhere," Sherlock replied, his hold tightening.

Molly smiled softly even as she drifted off.

* * *

The first thing Sherlock felt when he woke up was how disgusting his body felt. As much as he enjoyed having sex with Molly, he did not enjoy the aftermath, how his body was slicked with sweat and other bodily fluids. This time, there was also the addition of the chocolate they'd utilized during foreplay. While most of it had been licked off, traces remained and made him feel uncomfortable.

Sherlock looked down at Molly, still nestled close to him. She looked perfectly contented against him.

It was a funny thing. Being in love. Yet it did not feel bad. He had railed against it, but 'sentiment' and 'love' were two different things, weren't they?

His parents had been married for forty years. They'd been separated for nearly thirty after Sherlock had revealed the existence of his half-brother. In all of the cases he'd taken over the years, nearly every single one of them included an affair or a spurned lover of some sort.

As he looked down at the woman sleeping against his chest, he knew she would die rather than harm him. If he could trust himself to love anyone, it was her.

He carefully slipped out from beneath her, trying not to disturb her slumber. He padded across the floor, not bothering to don his dressing gown as he headed towards the bathroom.

"Where are you going?" Molly asked sleepily.

"I need a shower," Sherlock replied.

Molly rubbed the sleep from her eyes and sat up. "Mm. That sounds good." She got up and made her way to him. She got up on her tiptoes, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek.

"I thought that was against the rules," Sherlock replied with an arched brow.

Molly smiled. "That was at my flat."

Sherlock smiled and pulled Molly along with him into the bathroom. Sherlock began to run the shower, while Molly went to the sink, picking up the toothbrush she'd left and brushing her teeth.

Sherlock came up behind her, slipping an arm around her waist. "Are you encouraging a Pavlovian response in me where I associate dental hygiene with sexual arousal?"

"I have morning breath," Molly replied, giving him a nudge.

With a sigh, Sherlock took up his own toothbrush and went to work cleaning his mouth. Once they were both done, Molly slipped her arms around Sherlock's neck and kissed him firmly. Sherlock sighed against her mouth. "If you are, I believe your experiment is coming along nicely."

"Let's just shower," Molly laughed.

Sherlock got into the shower, pulling Molly in with him. The water was hot, pouring down onto them. Sherlock immediately leaned in, kissing Molly once again.

"We do need to actually get clean," Molly murmured against his mouth. "You said you felt disgusting."

Sherlock rolled his eyes before handing Molly her shower pouf and picking up his bar of soap. He smirked slightly as Molly turned away and squeezed out her shower gel. It had been sitting in the shower for weeks now. She had not bought any to replace it and her scent had been slightly off.

Sherlock lathered himself up with his soap. As he did, he began to hum a song he'd heard Mrs Hudson play many times. Molly giggled, which had been the whole point of him starting to sing. Sherlock stopped soaping himself up and slipped an arm around Molly's waist, pressing himself against her. "Love me tender, Love me long, Take me to your heart. For it's there that I belong, And we'll never part."

"You're just trying to make me laugh," Molly said, glancing back at him.

Sherlock nodded. "And it seems to be working quite well." He nuzzled her hair briefly. "We should do this more often. I'm sure John will complain, but he will be moving out soon now that you're coming back. He has been concerned about the idea of moving out while we were estranged."

Molly pulled away from Sherlock, turning to face him and shaking her head. "Sherlock... I..."

She didn't need to say anything else. He could read everything. "You're still not coming back."

Molly sighed. "Sherlock..."

"What about last night?" Sherlock asked.

Molly slipped her arms around Sherlock's waist and rested her head on his chest. "Sherlock, last night was wonderful. Last night was something we both needed." She looked up at him. "But I meant what I said. We need to take things slowly. I can't just come back here. We need to..." She sighed. "I dunno... Date."

"Date?" Sherlock wrinkled his nose. He tried to suppress his natural instinct, knowing it would just lead to a row. The idea of them dating was ridiculous. He had know her for three years. They had been in a sexual relationship for five months and lived together for over eight.

Molly frowned, obviously reading Sherlock's mood despite his attempts to swallow it. "Sherlock, I love you. And I know you love me. But this is how I want to do things. I'm not saying we won't have more sleepovers. We're just going to... Ease into things."

Sherlock sighed, trying to suppress his irritation. Instead of arguing, Sherlock went back to cleaning himself. He knew Molly was doing the same. They spent the rest of the shower in silence.

Once they were out of the shower and dried off, they returned to his room. Molly frowned slightly. "Sherlock, are you all right?"

"I just want you here," Sherlock replied, sitting down on the edge of his bed. "Molly, I promise I will not hurt you again. Don't punish me anymore."

Molly sighed and climbed into his lap. "Sherlock, I'm not trying to punish you. But I need time. Please. If you love me, you'll give me this."

Sherlock sighed deeply, and gave her a careful look. He then leaned in and kissed Molly. "Then I'll give you this."

Molly smiled softly and gave Sherlock a kiss on the forehead. "I need to get ready for work."

"Better idea," Sherlock said, taking hold of Molly's hips. "Stay here and we could celebrate our reunion again."

"Veronica will kill me," Molly said, slipped off of his lap. "You know, you give me enough problems holding onto my job without your libido contributing anything."

Sherlock sighed as he heard the door open. It seemed John was home. There really was not much point in getting Molly to stay if his flatmate was back in. But when Molly put on one of his shirts, he knew he had to at least try.


End file.
